


Bring me my arrows of desire!

by solequeene



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: F/M, Thoughts of infidelity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-29
Updated: 2012-01-29
Packaged: 2017-10-30 06:54:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/328989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solequeene/pseuds/solequeene
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Queen Victoria literally lies and thinks of England</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bring me my arrows of desire!

**Author's Note:**

> De-anon from . Fill written for [this prompt](http://hetalia-kink.livejournal.com/21382.html?thread=87538822#t87538822). This is unbetaed. Title taken from William Blake’s _[Jerusalem](http://www.poetry-archive.com/b/jerusalem.html\))._

There is nothing _wrong_ with Albert. He is handsome and athletic, intelligent and gentle. She loves him and he loves her. They are happy. But, as she lies on her bed at night, Albert’s pale hands drifting over her naked body, Victoria closes her eyes and thinks of England.

England has pale hands, too, but his are pointy, all long fingers with calluses and little scars. “Old battles, your Majesty”, he said when she had asked him and Victoria feels herself tremble as she imagines England fighting, full armour, Saint George’s cross swollen by the wind.

She moans. A small part of her, the part that reminds that she is married. But that little, shy flame, is soon forgotten as Albert thrusts in and all she can thinks about is England. She _is_ the Queen, after all. He is Her nation. Can she truly love anyone else?  
Victoria lets her mind wander and then England is the one thrusting, the one pushing inside of her, the one caressing her breast.  
England would be so different from Albert, she thinks. He on top of her now, his thin lips pressed against her neck, right over her pulse, where he sucks and licks until she can barely breathe. He is an expert, she knows, and fancies she is lying with every man and woman he ever had; the idea makes her whimper in pleasure.

England’s right hand closes over her breast, too strong for a human, while his left pins her short, soft arms over her head. There is no shyness is his touch, no hesitant movements: he knows what to do and makes Victoria whither when those rough finger pinch her nipple. She thrust up, wanting him to go deeper, but England uses his weight to pin her to the bed. She can’t do nothing but accept him, take him as he wants, helpless before her nation’s might.

England releases her arms and his left hand slithers down, to caress her other breast briefly before settling on her stomach. For a moment, Victoria wishes it was flat, as it was when she was young, but that thought disappears soon: she had given England children, as many as she could, to make him bigger and bring him glory; and she will give him more, as many as possible, to spread the English soul –to spread him- all over Europe and beyond. She will give him everything and more, power and lands, greatness and glory. And he will love her and make her his.

England’s mouth is over hers, now, and they kissed softly at first; then he bites her lower lip and she opens her moth for him, his tongue hot and wet and better than anything in the world. He kisses like he does everything, with untameable force and Victoria feels herself getting ever wetter, her legs spasming to press him ever deeper. He understands, of course, and angles himself so his lower part is pressed against her while his chest rises. England grabs her shins and bends her legs so her knees are pressed against her breasts and starts thrusting harder, deeper and more frantically.

It is an indecent position and she knows it. Albert never took her like this. This is a whore’s position, exposing her like this, bent in half for a man’s pleasure. And she loves it. She lowers her hand between her legs and rubs her clitoris furiously, knowing he loves it when she is vulgar than this, a flushed panting woman – no, a Queen reduced to nothing but a quivering mess of need.  
Victoria traces circles on the spot, bringing herself closer to her climax. England senses it and slaps her hand away before slipping out of her. She tries to protest but he flips her over, positioning herself on her hands and knees. He enters her like this and pushes her head down the pillow, one hand firm on her rounded hip and the other buried in her brown hair. She feels dirty like this, but it is fine, because it is England who is fucking her like a bitch and grunting curses while his cock slams into her. She would never let anyone take her like this, but he can because it is _him_ and she would crawl on her knees and kiss his boots if he so desires. She is almost suffocating, her mouth open over the soft pillowcase, drool pooling on it. She is nearing her orgasm quickly and she wants to get it, to feel the explosion of pleasure between her legs, wants the wetness overflow and the indescribable seizing of muscles before the absolute laxness. She puts her finger over her clitoris again, rubbing frantically with two fingers as a third one slips into her, alongside his cock and _that is it_. She explodes, her whole body explodes, her nipples feel like they are about to burst and she screams against the pillow, a desperate cry that leaves her dizzy.

Victoria can barely move afterwards and lets him turn her around, seating her against the headboard before presenting her with his still hard cock, the foreskin pulled back to reveal the smooth, read head. She opens her mouth, willingly taking him as far as she can, throat relaxing around the shaft. England is not gentle and fucks her mouth with the same brutally he showed before. She buries her nose on the dark blonde curls around the base of his prick and smells the musky scent of man and sweat. He is close, too and after a few deep, merciless thrusts –her throat hurts and she is choking- she can feel the bitter taste of his come on her mouth. He pulls out and continues stroking himself, shooting thick semen on her face, on her eyes, on her hair and nose. She is covered in it, dirty, soiled, wet and half mad with pleasure. He smiles at her, his green eyes sparkling and she mutters “I love you” before dragging her fingers over her face and licking it.

Then Victoria finds herself in Albert’s comfortable arms and he is muttering about how much he loves and she knows she should feel guilty. But she doesn’t and closes her eyes thinking of green eyes and never-ending passion.


End file.
